


Sunlight so Evanescent

by Ramzes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Elia is NOT sweet and all-forgiving, Gen, Spoilers for Book: The World of Ice and Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:24:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What did the aftermath of Harrenhall bring for the Dragon Prince and the Sun Princess? That's the story that remained untold because maesters had no access to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Would you care for some practicing?"

"If Your Grace so wishes."

Ser Arthur Dayne's reply was entirely proper, yet there wasn't the tiniest bit of joy or anticipation when only two months ago, there would have been one. It was as if an invisible wall separated Rhaegar from those who had been in his confidence, the men who had come to court with Elia. They still were – but they no longer seemed to think so. They no longer trusted him. Even Arthur who had been at King's Landing long before Elia arrived – even he seemed to share his countrymen's misgivings. That was what surprised Rhaegar most, that Arthur would place his sympathies with the princess of the land he had been born to instead of the prince he had given his allegiance freely.

"And then, we can go to the Great Sept of Baelor," he went on, determined not to show that he had noticed Arthur's withdrawal.

"I have some other business to attend to."

It was a rare event that Arthur refused his invitations – and when the Sept of Baelor was concerned, it never happened. Arthur claimed that he admired the structure of the building but now it occurred to Rhaegar that there might be another reason for Arthur's liking of it. That was the place of Dorne's greatest triumph, the place where Maron Martell had received more than any of the other rulers of the old, joining Dorne to the rest of the realm without bending the knee.

"Very well," he said curtly. "When you're done with your business, come to my chambers. I'll give you a letter I want you to take to Dorne."

He enjoyed the utter shock in Arthur's eyes, swiftly followed by joy. No doubt Arthur thought he'd have time to visit his family and spend some time in his homeland, however little. He would have, indeed. Aerys would only feel relief in seeing the back of the man he distrusted as Rhaegar's friend and a Dornishman. And Rhaegar would not deprive Arthur of this reprieve.

If the letter turned out not to be enough, he'd have to go and collect Elia and Rhaenys in person, bring them back to Dragonstone where they belonged. No matter that Elia herself doubted it right now. Rhaegar cursed his own stupid consent to let her visit her family in Dorne. He had thought that some time apart would soothe her anger. But he hadn't let meant for them to stay there indefinitely – and Elia's dutiful, bland letters spoke of no intention to return any time soon. His rash gesture to Lyanna Stark might cost him Dorne's support. If Arthur could believe that he intended to disadvantage Elia in any way, play foul with Dorne, then everyone else could. All those he could rely on only a few months ago. And they would whisper their unfounded fears in Doran's ear. Elia's anger would do the rest. All his plans might turn to ash in no time at all. All his preparations to neutralize his father… ruined over nothing.

No, she had to come home. The world had to see that no matter his indiscretion, he planned his future with her and no one else.

* * *

"She does know that Rhaenys isn't a doll, right?" Elia asked suspiciously.

Doran laughed. "I hope so!" he said and seeing that she was genuinely concerned, turned serious. "Don't fret. We're watching them, aren't we? So are Rhaenys' nursemaid. Let Arianne have her doll. Nothing bad is going to happen."

"I'd like to see whether you'd hold the same view once the baby is born," Elia murmured and reached for a blood orange from the branch overhanging so close that she didn't even need to rise. She peeled it without spilling even a drop of its juice and bit at it hungrily. She had missed the fruit of the sun so much at the misty, gloomy Dragonstone.

Doran didn't say anything, just watched her. Something was troubling her and that pained him. For the last two months, she had slowly recovered her old buoyancy and joy in the simplest things. The shade of anger and humiliation had dissolved somewhat. But now, it was a new shade clouding her eyes, numbing her smiles, making her pause in the middle of a sentence. He had no idea what troubled her and he didn't want to press her into sharing. But he did make an attempt at prodding her into confiding. "Are you going to stay here for the birth?" he asked.

The official explanation for Elia's return to Dorne was the fact that her goodsister was in the throes of a hard pregnancy. As someone who had recently gone through the same thing, Elia could sympathize and try to cheer her up, or so the story went. Of course, the rumours went rampant – Rhaegar had sent her and Rhaenys away, disgruntled that she hadn't given him a male heir. She had tried to kill him in a fit of jealousy and he no longer wanted her around. He intended to take Lyanna Stark in her place. She was so insulted at the affront at Harrenhall that she no longer could live under his roof and that had cost him Dorne's support in his game. There were as many versions as there were tongues. Until now, Elia had paid no attention to them, too happy to be away from her husband and lick her wounds without the entire court of Rhaegar's people at Dragonstone watching. But lately, she had started listening to them. She had to. Her brief moment of the sun finally shining upon her again, of feeling somewhat recovered here, in Dorne, was not to last. She looked away.

"I don't know," she said and blushed, realizing that she had eaten almost the entire blood orange mindlessy. "I am sorry," she apologized and offered the last bit to Doran. He smiled, shook his head, and picked another one for her. His eyes stayed fixed across their table until Elia turned to see what he was looking at. A sad smile tugged at her lips at noticing their uncle, without his white – "What? It isn't the white guarding you, it's me, and I am still here even in my own attire," he claimed – walking in the distance, hand in hand with his paramour for the last ten years or so. Not for the first time, Elia ached with desire to have something like that, too. But she had known from the very beginning that she wouldn't with Rhaegar. However, she had not expected to have humiliation and being laughed at behind her back either.

And the worst part was that she had to return. She had no other choice.

But not yet. Right now, she'd keep healing in the land of her birth, in the company of her family, the people she had grown up with, and the sight of Arianne playing with Rhaenys as if she were a doll but a much more fascinating one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who commented.
> 
> A. N. For the purpose of this story, I prolonged Elia's mother's life. TWOIAF makes it likely that she was dead at the time of Elia's wedding.

When she first saw the white, she thought it was her uncle. But the moment she saw the silver-gold hair, she realized how wrong she was.

She could simply feel her face going white as she realized that the time of respite was over.

But she was a Martell of Sunspear. A daughter of the sun that always rose, no matter the obstacles. And the spear was not fit for knitting, so she drew a breath, squared her shoulders, and entered Doran's solar to find them all there – Doran and Arthur, her father and Oberyn, Ashara and her brother Lord Dayne, Uncle Lewyn. Her mother was not here but then, Elia had not expected her to be. The sickness that was sapping Arianne Martell's strength was progressing slowly but relentlessly. With time, Doran had assumed all of her duties since she simply couldn't keep up with them and spent most of her time in her chambers, incapacitated by pain and too weak to do anything demanding efforts.

"Ser Arthur," she said and he looked at her before rising and bowing. Abruptly, it struck her how changed circumstances were. Arthur had been Kingsguard for five years, yet he had come to Dorne a few times before and this formality had never been present. Not only with her. Looking around, she realized that everyone was seated around the central table, instead of lounging wherever they liked. Arthur's arrival was almost a formal occasion. _Damn you, Rhaegar_ , she thought bitterly. He had not only shred her off her dignity, he had taken Arthur away from her. Them. Before, it had always been Arthur Dayne who returned, just in Kingsguard white; now, it was only Rhaegar's… what? Speaker? Envoy? What was he?

"I wasn't informed of your arrival," she said.

"He arrived before dawn, Elia," Doran said. "We did not wish to disturb your rest."

_I don't have any rest_ , she thought and didn't say it. Lately, her concerns had started catching up with her once again.

"I see," she said and took a sear. "Well, Ser Arthur, I hope you've been lodged comfortably?"

"Yes, Princess," he said, averting his eyes. "The Halls of Welcome are very comfortable indeed."

_Oberyn_ , she thought. Her brother had to have a hand at Arthur's lodgings not being the ones he had always been given before – whatever rooms happened to be free in the wing meant for the Martells' close friends. Arthur was already paying for coming here on Rhaegar's behest – but then, could she truly blame Oberyn? He had only made evident something that everyone felt. Rhaegar's man could not be held in the same regard as Arthur Dayne of the Water Gardens, as unfair as it was. The wound was still fresh and stinging. It would take time to scar.

"I take it that you're coming with word from my lord husband?" she asked.

He blushed. "Can we talk in private?"

Elia stared at him, mouth agape. Ashara's breath hissed out from between her teeth. Had the horror and distrust of the Red Keep consumed him so thoroughly that he could never trust, that he felt they needed to keep secrets from her family and friends the way they did with Aerys and his men?

"No," she said. "You can speak now or not speak at all. You can choose." And she shrugged even as regret shot through her. It was not Arthur that she wanted to wound – but Rhaegar was out of her reach.

But he surprised her by saying simply, "He wants you to return."

Elia smiled sadly. "I will," she said.

"The hell you will!"

Oberyn jumped up out of his chair, shooting daggers at her. "Are you mad?" he snapped. "As mad as Aerys? You know why he wants you back, don't you? Don't tell me you think it's because he's sorry and he's realized how he shamed you? You can't be this stupid? Please tell me that you aren't!"

Years of experience had taught Elia that the worst way of dealing with Oberyn's outbursts was humour him. They'd start a fight that would achieve nothing but hurt both of them. So she said nothing.

"He is sorry," Arthur said. "Truly, he is."

"He is? And what, exactly, is he sorry for?"

This time, the attack came from the most unexpected place. Both Elia and Oberyn turned to stare at their brother. Doran was never sarcastic and cruel. Well, almost never.

"For embarrassing Elia so? Or for the implications his grand gesture is now presenting – for him?" Doran went on. "Why do I have the feeling that I know the answer?"

His tone was level as usual but the contempt was unmistakable. Arthur inclined his head, shame blooming on his fair cheeks. Bolstered by the realization that this time, Doran was with him instead of against him, Oberyn said, "Why, because you do! Our beloved goodbrother has started to realize that he's furthered Aerys' suspicions of trying to win the Starks over and he wants to remedy it. How? By showing the world what good friends he's with the Martells, of course!"

Elia found herself nodding at every word. She would go back, of course, but the realization that she was only a pawn in the mummer show Rhaegar was about to present to the world made her see red. The thought of having him play the attentive husband.. Bunching her fists, she stared right ahead, searing a hole through the glass of the window and wishing it was her husband's head instead.

"You'd better keep your mouth shut, Oberyn," their father said. "Nothing good has ever come from much talking when one is with their back to the wall. And that's where we are, make no mistake. We're up to our neck in this along with Rhaegar. This situation requires some thinking…"

Oberyn huffed and his father gave him a look that Elia interpreted as deep regret that Oberyn was now grown and Alric could no longer put an end to the argument with a slap.

"It requires no thinking at all," she said. "I am coming back."

"You can't!" Ashara burst out. "My lady, he only wants to use you. We believed that he was a man of honour who would always treat you well but at Harrenhall, he showed that he cared not for you. Let him fret a little and return in your own time. If you have to return at all, I mean."

The option was so alluring… Elia shook her head. "Is he going to fret?" she asked thoughtfully. "Or is he going to take that as a sign that he should take the Northern girl to wife? She's infatuated with him as only a girl of fifteen can be and I believe he won't face many difficulties in convincing her that she should elope with him. Become his wife. Where would this leave me? Rhaegar is capable of anything. He only have two passions: removing his father from power and fulfilling that prophecy of his."

"What prophecy?" her father asked.

No one else understood what she meant – no one but Arthur. She gave him a long look before continuing, "No, make that three. He's infatuated with her. He might well decide to elevate her in my place. And if she gives birth at Dragonstone, he might take it as a sign that her children are meant to serve a great purpose and I and mine were a mistake."

Blank looks all around. Elia must have looked the same way when she had finally realized that Rhaegar had had another reason to insist that they lived at Dragonstone. Born amidst smoke and salt – he had made sure that their first child had fulfilled the criteria. All for naught. Elia still shuddered with revulsion at the memory of Rhaegar coming to her bed mere weeks after Harrenhall as the red star bled over King's Landing.

Finally, she said it. "I am with child," she announced. "And I have no choice but to return… now."

Oberyn spat a foul oath but even he knew this was so. Staying here would basically mean that the child was fatherless. Why, many would doubt whether it was even Rhaegar's…

Still, Elia would not start making preparations for leaving, not today, not yet.

* * *

As reluctant as Arthur was to admit it, the chambers he was unaccustomed to were indeed comfortable. Luxurious, even – a bedchamber, an antechamber, and much sun. There was a settee, upholstered chairs, two chests where he could place his scarce belongings… He had not had this much room in years.

He would have traded it all for a bed in the wing where the Martells' friends were housed. And sometimes, it _had_ been a bed in a chamber he had had to share with a friend, on those occasions when the Old Palace had become overcrowded. But he could not fault Elia or Doran for not wanting him near. Everyone knew he was Rhaegar's friend and whatever was spoken in the family chambers about the Prince of Dragonstone could not be good. They were undoubtedly hatching plans that he should not know about. No, he no longer had a place there when Elia's and Rhaegar's paths had diverged, in a way.

Sighing, he took off his clothing and submerged, with a groan of pleasure, into the hot water. At his arrival, he had barely had the chance to wash the dirt of the travel away and now relaxed, enjoying the bath. It turned out that here was still dirt on him, though, and he scrubbed himself most thoroughly before leaning his head against the edge to rest.

He stayed there until the water grew cold and rose only reluctantly, drying himself with brisk motions.

The door of his bedchamber slowly opened. He held his breath, hope blooming all of a sudden, despite knowing that…

"I thought you weren't coming," he murmured and Elia smiled, letting her dark cloak fall in a sea of velvet around her feet.

"Why would you think so?" she murmured back and came close, wrapping her arms about him, overwhelming him with scent and touch so familiar that he could not believe that three years had passed since they had last been together – and in two of them, they had hardly even seen each other more often than in the three before. Since her wedding, there had always been eyes, and ears, and tongues between them. They had barely spoken to each other. And their meeting from today had not revealed any warmth towards him on her part. Now, it felt that only three hours had passes since their last kiss.

Elia drew back to look at him. "I told you years ago: At Sunspear, you were mine and not the white cloak's. You were warned. I came to stay, unless you want to send me away."

In the interplay of shadows over the walls, her smile was as wicked as Oberyn's. Her eyes gleamed like the light of a thousand suns punctuated by the tips of spears that knew where to strike, be it to hurt or tease. _Sunlight_ , he thought, and then she made a step away and the shadows veiled her face. The sunrays disappeared.

He laughed and drew her even closer, burying his face in her hair, not caring that his own was still wet. "We're at Sunspear," he said. "And I'm yours."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a thanks and a cookie for everyone who commented!

Days were going on so swift that it scared Elia. In less than a week, she'd leave her homeland and with the way things developed, she would probably not be allowed to visit any time soon. Rhaegar's letters arrived almost every day, assuring her how much he missed her and their daughter, his impatience to see them back home showing. _If you were sure that you'd have Dorne's support without us there, would you have still missed us so much_ , Elia wondered bitterly, thinking that if it had been indeed about her, he would have left her to heal her lacerated pride and come back in her own time instead of forcing her. A single gesture, a simple crown of roses had put an end to her trust in her husband. Maybe she would have been able to overcome it – if she could allow herself such a luxury.

"I wish I could tell you to try and be happy," Doran told her one say as they were breaking their fast. "But it won't be… wise."

The bread suddenly tasted stale. "No," Elia agreed. "It wouldn't be."

Now she knew that she and maybe even Rhaenys were replaceable to Rhaegar, second best to his ambitions and prophetical obsessions for sure… and second best to the Stark girl, most likely. From now on, her life with him would be constant trying to keep ahead of him, for her sake and her children's sake. She no longer believed that their wellbeing was of utmost importance to him. The question was not whether he'd sacrifice them but rather, what he would sacrifice them for – his prophecy, a possible alliance with the North, his passion for the Stark girl.

Everything she did during the day was tanged by the bitter recognition that it might be her last time doing it – playing with the children, spending time with her family and old friends, walking in the streets of Sunspear. Fear and dark premonitions, and trying to fight them away, right until she would retire for the evening, dismiss her ladies, and start reading or embroidering. Time froze then, dragging impossibly long. Her entire being was alert for footsteps that she could hear sometimes. Other times, she just felt a strong arm around her shoulder, a voice murmured, "I love you" in her ear and time started rushing wildly once again, as much as she wanted to slow it down.

In those nights of love, faint Dornish breeze, and the sweet aroma of blood oranges, Elia barely slept at all, plagued by the certainty that she'd soon lose him. As much as they liked to pretend that once Aerys was removed from power and Elia moved to King's Landing, they could renew their relationship, they both knew it was too dangerous, so they didn't want to lose a single moment. Until dawn almost came, they held each other and talked in whisper about every moment of their lives since the decision for Elia's betrothal had been made.

"Once I come to King's Landing," Elia said once, two days before their departure, "I'll keep you to your Kingsguard vows."

He laughed, although there was a little sadness in it. _Ah Elia, a snake to the core, albeit a smiling one._ That was the first time she acknowledged it'd soon be over, at the same time making her jealousy clear in a way that was both flattering and selfishly possessive. If she could not have Arthur, then no other woman could have him either…

"Come here, my lady," he whispered, trailing a line of kisses down her breasts and belly. "You should compensate me for my future privations…"

She did so, gladly, and then reluctantly saw him off. They separated at her door with a last desperate kiss that should suffice for the whole long day.

* * *

"I saw that we had a visitor last night."

Very carefully, Elia placed her cup down with a suddenly shaking hand. Her eyes went to her mother's hollow face. Arianne Martell eyed her calmly, inquisitively. _What a fool I was._ That was all Elia could think of. Just because her mother was at the end of her strength, just because she could not walk for long without support, just because she needed to sleep half of the day out of exhaustion, she had thought that the Princess of Dorne had lost touch with everything that did not include her own chambers.

"He was coming to me," she said, challengingly. All of a sudden, her mother's tranquility enraged her. Arianne Martell had no right to look at her like this, as if she truly wanted to know what was going on. Not that she would understand. She had had it all, hadn't she? Her political match had also been a love one. She had Elia's father and for a good two decades, she had had all the men she had wanted while he was away, going as far as to install one of them in the very Water Gardens. Even then, Alric had forgiven her at the end, although after that, Arianne had never looked at another man twice. What was she going to do now, take Elia to task? Telling her to forgive Rhaegar? Yes, most likely. After all, what she had done was not so different from Elia's husband actions. She might even feel some bloody empathy!

Arianne smiled wryly. "Far be it from me to think that he was coming to me," she said.

Elia gave a surprised laughter. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her enmity and defensiveness forgotten.

Arianne sighed. "What, you thought I was going to lecture you on morals? The Seven see that I am not even remotely qualified. No, I just want to know what you intend to do from now on. I don't want you to come to grief… and your Rhaegar doesn't sound like a man who would be sympathetic should he find out."

_Your Rhaegar._ It sounded so unnatural. _He was never mine, no more than I was ever his._ They were two people thrown together by fate who had unsuccessfully tried to make it work.

"There's nothing to find out," she said abruptly. "It'll be over the moment we leave here. I know it's too dangerous."

The relief on Arianne's face made her fury rise once again. Her mother was _happy_ that she would not be with her love ever again when her own behavior in the past…

"It isn't about me," Arianne said sharply. "Or how lucky I was that your father didn't forsake me as I well deserved… I realize that, believe me. It's about you and the danger you might be placing yourself in."

Elia knew it was so but her entire being fought against this inevitability. She had barely seen five and twenty namedays; she would have to spend the next few years – at least the next few! – trying to second-guess the husband she could no longer trust. And she would have to spend them alone.

He mother's hand, impossibly thin and pale, covered hers. "Love isn't all there is, Elia," she said softly. "There are many other things in life."

"It's easy for you to say so," Elia countered bitterly. "Have no care, you'll have a Dornish queen on the throne and your grandson will be king. I won't do anything to endanger that. I tried to be a good wife to Rhaegar. I turned that gloomy island into a wonderful home. I gave him confidants to help with his plans. I was there when he needed advice or just someone to spend time with. I tolerated this friend of his who would happily throttle me if given the chance…"

"What friend?"

Elia ignored this. "And what did I get for my efforts? A spit in my face, that's what. But I won't give up. I shall not resign my place as the Princess of Dragonstone and mother to the future king so he can take this woman-child in my place. And yes, I realize that means giving Arthur up. Are you happy now?"

Arianne didn't bother with a reply, just kept sipping her tea. Soon, Elia's anger died once again. Her mother was not to blame for the fact that she had found trust and happiness in her marriage, unlike Elia. It was just the way the gods had willed it. And of course Arianne was not happy. She was just concerned, that was it.

After a while, Arianne spoke. "I hoped it was just a childish infatuation," she said and sighed. Her voice was subdued. "What you feel for him… does it keep you warm at night even when he isn't there?"

"All the time," Elia replied guardedly, not quite sure what was going on. Experience had taught her that her mother was never going to let anyone's anger deter her from achieving her ends, whatever they were.

"Is he the first person you think about when you're in trouble and need someone's help?"

Elia stared at her. _All those cures are getting to her mind_ , she thought in horror and tried to keep her voice calm. "Of course he is!"

Arianne let out another sigh and looked down. "And when you're with him, the outside world stop existing?"

"Oh yes!" Elia replied and waited for the next question that never came. Was this how Rhaegar felt, she wondered. Could such feelings excuse the shame he had brought upon her? Impossible! He couldn't feel this way about the girl. There hadn't been enough _time_. "Was this how you felt for the Reach boy?" she asked, wondering why she was doing this to herself.

A small smile rippled across Arianne's lips. The Reach boy. Her lover had not taken any part in her small children's lives but that was how Doran, only a few years younger than him, had spoken about him. In his nice, discreet way he had been ruder than most people could be with curses and threats. In fact, without a single word of offense. And Elia and Oberyn, as usual, had taken their cues from him. They would deny it most emphatically but they still did so today, although to a much smaller extent.

"No," she said. "That's what I've always felt for your father."

All of a sudden, Elia wanted to weep. That was her mother's way of telling her that she understood, that she did not think her weak, that she ached for her. She placed her free hand over the frail one covering hers. _Unbent, unbowed, unbroken_ , she thought. She would endure.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented!

When the mists parted to reveal the gloomy island, Elia sighed with relief. The stormy, jerking travel had exhausted her to no end and she had been as sick as a dog since the babe in her womb was protesting mightily against being dragged across the water. This was even worse than her travel to Dorne when she had been far less recovered from Rhaenys' birth and crushed under the weight of pain and humiliation, so even the sight of the gloomy island was relief since it meant firm land under her feet, a chance for her stomach to settle as best as it could, and a quiet nursery for Rhaenys to be placed in. Lately, the little one had started fussing each time Elia disappeared from view, screaming when anyone else touched her, and when she was in her mother's arms, she couldn't stop whimpering.

"Fine," Elia told her now. "We're going inside. We don't want to get you sick right before we arrived, right? Yes, we're here. Finally."

Arthur stared after her as she walked away trailed by two women – for a reason neither Ashara nor Arel would tell him his sister had chosen to stay in Dorne. _Pleased to come back to your husband, eh, Princess?_ he thought resentfully although it was ludicrous of him. But her relief rubbed him in the wrong way, making him feel things that he had no right to feel and ascribing motives to her that he _knew_ she didn't have.

Lewyin headed after his niece but not before turning away slightly and giving Arthur a meaningful look that the younger man took in with further irritation. Now, Prince Lewyn was trying to tell him that he wasn't acting the proper Kingsguard? Prince Lewyn who had not even given up on his paramour? To the seven hells with him.

All of a sudden, Arthur wished for the boat heading for them to overturn. For a storm to come and start tossing them wildly until they were far away. Anything but their arrival to the damned island where he would stay no more than a day or three – at most! – and Elia would be reunited with her husband. No doubt Rhaegar would be thrilled to hear about the babe. Just the thought of it made Arthur's bile rise. Now, his resentment expanded to include a third person beside Elia and Prince Lewyn: Rhaegar who could never appreciate what he had. Not for what it was. The silver fool seemed unable to see Elia as something more than a womb carrying his precious prophetic children. A queen who would do her duty with diligence and excel at it. Arthur couldn't fathom how it was possible when in Rhaegar's place, he would have… But then, what could be expected of a man who thought that a wild thing like Lyanna Stark was worth humiliating his wife and rousing Aerys' suspicions even more? Who had requested his conjugal rights as soon as physically possible after Rhaenys' birth? He had asked Elia why she had gotten with child immediately and she had told him that this had been Rhaegar's wish. Arthur's fists clenched. Did the Prince not care about her at all? _What kind of life am I taking her back to?_

The sea was roaring beneath their feet. Arthur stared at the grey mass, finding no beauty in it, no appeal. He had disliked Dragonstone from the first time he had come here, years ago. If it was possible for a sea to freeze, this one would have! The wildness and coldness all around appealed to Rhaegar's melancholic nature but to a man born under the bright sun of Dorne?

To the sun herself?

_She cannot like it here_ , he thought. _She cannot like living here. With him._ And he immediately felt guilty for the rush of deep, selfish joy coursing through him. He knew he was relishing in Elia's misery. He just couldn't help it. Love was an insidious thing, rising people to the seventh heaven and sinking them to the lowliest levels of human nature. At least, it did so with Arthur. _Are all those singers just blind, or am I doing it wrong?_ he wondered. _She cannot be happy here._ He hoped she couldn't and hoped that she would. If only Elia could be happy here and in King's Landing but without Rhaegar having anything to do with her! Of course, this couldn't happen and while Arthur was trying to decide what he wanted, the boat came near, Elia emerged with a warmly wrapped Rhaenys in her arms, and their return was a fact.

* * *

Rhaegar was uneasy.

Elia noticed it as soon as he approached them at the castle gates and it made her smile contentedly. Oh he was hiding it well but there were those faint telltale signs – the tick in his left eye, the breathing that was so even that it couldn't be anything but carefully measured, the questioning upturn in his smile. And the very fact that he had come to meet them so far was telling enough. Usually, she'd expect to meet him in the great hall or their private chambers. Royals never went as far as the gates to greet a new arrival. And still, behind the hesitance, his joy at seeing them looked so sincere. Elia sighed and decided to accept it at face value.

A few steps behind Rhaegar, Jon Connington gave her a dark look. Oh he was quite a jealous man, this one! No doubt he had noticed Rhaegar's uneasiness as well. All of a sudden, Elia was reassured that Rhaegar did want them here, no matter what his purpose was. Connington wouldn't have been this hateful if he didn't.

Next to her, Arthur simply woozed resentment. Elia suppressed a second sigh. She was already regretting her decision to go to him in Sunspear. If he kept going on like this, Rhaegar was sure to suspect something! She was coming back not because she so wished and Arthur knew it, yet during their journey, he had been cross and angry as if she had choice and might have made a different one.

Cold wind detached the hood from her head; briefly, Elia thought that the maesters were wrong, that spring was not coming. Everything about her pointed at a returning winter: the thick outfits, the grass that had yet to turn to bright, brilliant green, the lustre of the dragon towers dusted in white frost. She shivered. And then Rhaegar was in front of her, raising her gloved hand to his lips to kiss. "My princess," he said. "Welcome home."

When he drew back, his eyes went to Rhaenys and he reached out, eagerly. Unthinkingly, Elia clasped the child tighter, fighting the urge that pushed her to say, "No! Don't touch her! That's _my_ babe!" _We've been away from him too long_ , she realized. "She's going to cry, my lord," she warned. "Lately, she cries each time when someone else tries to hold her."

His face fell. "Oh," he said. "I don't want to upset her."

All of a sudden, Elia smiled. He was not that different from other men. Give them any giant to fight and they would, but most of them feared babies most genuinely. She took his hand and brought it over Rhaenys' face. Rhaegar drew a finger across the soft cheek and murmured, "She now looks even more like you."

He looked at her. There could be no doubt to his sincerity when he added, softly, for her ear alone this time, "I _am_ happy that you came back."

Elia drew a long breath. She had not forgiven his offense and might never do so but they were tied to each other by no will of their own. There was no use of antagonizing him right now. She hoped for a future of peace and she might well start working on it now. "I am happy, too," she whispered and looked away so he could not detect the lie in her eyes.

* * *

 

The woman was quite short and despite her resplendent gown in emerald green embroidered with diamonds, her appalling thinness showed through. Some women didn't find it easy to shed the weight after childbirth but Mariah Martell had clearly shared Elia's problem which was the opposite one. The portrait had been drawn soon after the birth of her fourth son, her children had been born in swift sequence and it had clearly inflicted a toll on her. She looked exhausted, weak, unwell.

"Have you ever shared my doubts, my lady?" Elia asked the woman who, more than a hundred years ago, had lived in this very castle. She, too, had been the Princess of Dragonstone.

Rhaegar had ordered the portraits of Daeron the Good and his family with his Dornish wife taken out and exposed in a prominent place as soon as he and Elia had moved here. Elia had liked standing in the gallery and watching them, gathering her courage from the fact that she was not the first Dornish princess to be in this strange oppressive place, dealing with a goodfather who was less than stellar. If Mariah had survived Aegon the Unworthy, then Elia could survive Aerys.

But this had been before Harrenhall. By all accounts, Mariah and Daeron's marriage had been happy. Elia knew for sure that Daeron had never subjected his lady wife to public humiliation. Had he ever given her any cause to think that she might be expendable? Of course not. The woman had borne him four sons in no time at all! What more could a prince, a king desire? He had lived for years after her death without looking at another woman. No matter how sincere Rhaegar's joy and uneasiness at their arrival looked, Elia had little doubt that he would replace her with the wolf girl within weeks of her death.

For the first time since her wedding, Elia acutely felt just how different her fate was from Mariah Martell's. She proceeded down the gallery and went past the guards who opened the door to her chambers.

"Is Rhaenys well?" she asked as soon as she entered the bedchamber and was met by silence.

She asked the question already walking for the oak crib. Her daughter was sleeping soundly, too exhausted by the travel to protest against her mother's absence. Elia didn't dare touch her, lest she roused her. Instead, she turned around and smiled when she saw the bathtub with warm water already waiting for her.

"The Prince has taken care to have everything prepared for you, Your Grace," one of her ladies exclaimed.

That was a good sign. As angry as she was with her husband, it was hard to think that he didn't care when he had put so much effort in showing her that she was the one he cared for. Even if it was all politics, it was still nice. And it was not _just_ politics. It couldn't be. No matter what, Rhaegar loved Rhaenys. And he cared about Elia. Had cared, at least. She had to believe that.

To her shock, Rhaegar entered as she was still scrubbing the dirt off her arms and collarbone. She almost reached for her robe to conceal herself but caught herself in time – she could not hide from her lord husband.

"Leave us, everyone," Rhaegar said and the women hurried to obey.

When they were alone, Elia kept rubbing the lavender soap in – she didn't know what to say or do. Let him do the talking. He had come here with a purpose… right?

"You look beautiful," Rhaegar finally said.

All of a sudden, her rage returned, searing her like a dragon flame. He had never called her beautiful. Not the day they had wed. Not the day she had given him Rhaenys. Oh, he told her that she was kind, that he liked being with her, that this or that gown suited her, that this tiara enhanced the shine of her hair. But he had never called her beautiful. Until now. When she no longer was. She was very much aware of the wrinkled skin on her concave belly and wasted thighs, her white face and pale nails, her thinning hair. Rhaenys' birth had been a nightmare that she had yet to recover from, yet she would lend her body to the babe to feed on. She was anything but beautiful.

"I didn't know you thought so," she said sharply. To her surprise, her anger was now stronger than it had been even when he rode straight past her at Harrenhall. How _dared_ he? How could he have thought that _this_ would help him get back into her good graces?

To his credit, Rhaegar didn't pretend not to understand. He rose and came near the tub, making her draw back to the far wall.

"Elia," he said. "It wasn't about love at all. You have to believe me."

"I do," she replied honestly. _Unlike you, my lord husband, I know what love feels like._

"It was a mistake," Rhaegar said. "I won't do it again. I never meant to hurt you."

Elia started washing her hair. "I know." _You just didn't think of me at all._

She watched him from behind her hand and under her eyelashes. Now he looked even more uncomfortable than he had at the gates.

"It didn't mean anything, Elia," he said. "And I am sorry I made it look like it did."

She smelled the falsehood, although she couldn't say in which statement it lay. All of a sudden, she braced herself for a fight, her distrust of him coming back in full force. "It meant something to me," she said, her voice dripping ice. "And you should be very sorry indeed. Because now people won't talk about the imminent birth of your heir but how unworthy you find his mother instead."

Here. She had shown her trumps. Let him see how Westeros would take it should he decide to send his future heir's mother away and take a woman-child in her stead. One betrothed to a _Baratheon_ , of all people. What was Rhaegar thinking?

When joy lit his face up, Elia could not help but notice that he was very handsome indeed. Mother, what was wrong with her? Was that what she should be thinking about now?

"The night of the comet?" he asked.

Elia nodded, her triumph evaporating. Now, she finally understood. Whatever he felt for Lyanna Stark, his prophecy was most important to him. He rejoiced in her news but because it was a dragon head that she would give him. His single-mindedness scared her once again. Terrified her, in fact. Was there something that Rhaegar _wouldn't_ do for his prophecy?

Her eyes went past him and she smiled bitterly. She had been right. The snow that had started fluttering in small pearls outside her window heralded the return of winter.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been more than a year! Sorry for the long delay and thanks to everyone who supported the story by commenting.

She fainted. Just like this. Like the maidens in the songs who pressed a hand to their breast before swooning gracefully, giving the knight the time he needed to catch them, their lush hair sweeping the colourful rugs.

Of course, it wasn't like this. Her hand stayed where it was, although the news fell her like a mortal blow. Ridiculous! It wasn't anything unexpected. She had expected it for days, had been preparing for it thinking that it wouldn't affect her unduly. It was nothing _bad_. And Rhaegar, reasonably, wasn't prepared for any reaction on her part. After all, he had only said that Arthur was leaving the next day. Going back to King's Landing where he belonged.

Next thing Elia knew, she was in her bed, maesters and handmaidens bustling about. Before she could even think, she reached down for her belly.

"He's fine," Rhaegar said from her right. "It was just a brief swoon. You're both fine now."

Elia turned her head to look at him, at which she felt a pull in her shoulder. She had clearly gotten some bruising. Had she indeed fallen on the rug unconscious like a foolish maiden from the stories? She was no young girl and she certainly didn't have a crown of hair to sweep the Myrish carpet with. Not anymore. Just like she didn't have the luxury of mourning her parting with Arthur. What had she turned into, a participant in a mummer show of her own? Was that what the promises of those bright days of blue water and blood oranges and nights of trees whispering to them ten years ago had twisted into? The whole thing left a bad taste in her mouth.

She looked at her husband. He looked as confused as she felt – and underneath it, there was a faint displeasure. It was bad enough that since her return, she had been constantly sick, vomiting over everything and everyone – now they had swoons to add to the list of unpleasantness? Anger rose in her when she realized that he wasn't all that concerned. Why should he be? He was sure that the child she was carrying was the Prince Who Was Promised, so it was certain to be born alive. He didn't share her fear that the fit might have harmed the babe somehow. She'd spend the next few days worrying alone, terrified to use the privy because she might see red stains.

"I need to rest," she finally said without trying to explain her fears and concoct excuses for this brief loss of consciousness for this stranger. "I'll have my dinner here, in bed. Please don't come to check on me. I'll keep you informed."

He nodded and brought her hand to his lips before rising with eagerness that filled Elia with resentment and understanding. Who wouldn't prefer to think of a girl of strong constitution and pale grey eyes, instead of holding a basin before a woman who was sick yet again? He had done so during her first pregnancy but at that time, they had both been trying to get to know each other, hoping to build something solid. Now, all that had left was disappointment on both sides, longing for other people and pangs of conscience. Elia wasn't a liar by nature so she did feel guilty for her weakness in the Water Gardens. But would she wish her weeks of stolen happiness away? Not for the world. They were all the more precious to her because they would not repeat ever again. Rhaenys, the son Elia prayed for, her tasks and duties – that would be her life from now on. No matter how much she wanted to regain what she and Rhaegar had had in the beginning, it was no longer there. Perhaps it had never been at all. _I have to get better,_ she thought. _I have to give birth to a healthy babe and it must be a son. I don't trust Rhaegar with Rhaenys but this brother, I'll teach him to value her. I will._

* * *

Elia no longer looked at him.

It took him some time to notice the pattern but at the end, he could no longer deny it. She listened to him when he spoke and gave thought to the matters he exposed to her. She gave him advice and it was a good one. But when he touched her hand, she went limp and he could feel her desire to draw it back immediately. She no longer entered his chambers on a whim, lighting the mists of Dragonstone with the sun of her smile – now they only met at the evening feast or if he went to her in daytime. When he asked her about her day, she didn't share the stories of her small pleasures like she had used to do. Even their love for Rhaenys could not unite them – now Elia watched him with their daughter not with tenderness and delight but with sharp examination that irked him. The only reason he didn't put her to questioning about it was the fact that she _was_ with child. She deserved some leeway. But as soon as their son was born, he'd put an end to this farce. He would not tolerate her treatment of him as if he were a worse brigand than the Brotherhood a moment longer than strictly necessary.

The worst thing was that his anger was mixed with genuine concern and regret. He missed her companionship. He missed watching her make everyone feel appreciated and useful. Her laughter over the discomforts the babe caused her. With Rhaenys, she – and by extension, he - had been filled with hope and joyful anticipation despite the toll her condition had been exerting from her body; now, it was just grim determination to get through that more than anything else. He wanted to believe that it was just because she already knew what she'd be facing but he feared it was not that. For all her civility, she had lost something. Some hope, perhaps. Her trust in him, for sure. It didn't matter that every so often, he apologized and told her that it hadn't meant a thing. If anything, she had caught the lie and that only served to make her more distant. Rhaegar was quite surprised by this ugly face of the woman he had thought so considerate, so understanding of human frailties.

Without her kindness to light up her features and her amiability to liven her up, Elia was now ungainly, unpleasant to the eye, her skin chapped and her body overcome with oedemas. More than once, Rhaegar was on the verge of making a sarcastic offer that he order a special machine to lower and lift her from her chairs since it was a long and awkward process – and then he was disgusted with himself and troubled about their future. What could they expect if they kept entertaining such ugly notions about each other? More and more often, as she started to spend most of her day sleeping and the rest of it exhausted and useless, her mind drifting in places where he could not follow, his thoughts went back to Lyanna Stark, so vibrant and so alive. And that worried him more than it had those first day, when Elia's fury had been raging instead of quietly simmering with distrust.

Finally, Rhaegar swallowed his pride and went to Lewyn Martell for advice. After all, Elia's uncle knew her better than anyone here. And he had seen an indiscretion far worse than Rhaegar's being forgiven. Surely he'd know some tips?

"Stop apologizing," the Martell prince told him bluntly. "She'll feel the lie in your excuses. And it'll only make her remember the whole accident over and over anyway. Only time will help. Show your loyalty to her again and again, make it clear to everyone in this castle and the world that she's your future queen and the one you value above all others. For months and years. That's the only remedy I know of."

"Was that what worked for your sister?" Rhaegar asked equally bluntly.

Lewyn was unfazed. "Yes. Of course, the fact that they had had twenty years of marriage, three children, and everyone's knowledge that Alric was always the only one who mattered to Arianne also helped. And the fact that they've loved each other from the start wasn't in the way either."

But Rhaegar and Elia didn't have any of those things working for them.

"Elia, it cannot go on like this," he said one evening as she stared at the dance of the snowflakes over the dark yard. The cold had sent everyone inside as soon as they were done with their chores. A year ago, she had told him that she was very curious to see what snow was like. Rhaegar suspected that it wasn't so now. "I told you I was sorry. I _am_ sorry. What should I do to make up? You tell me."

She looked at him and sighed. "I don't know. I don't want it to be like this. I don't like the woman I'm turning into. But it isn't something that I can force on myself, Rhaegar. I am doing what is within my power. You cannot say I am not a dutiful wife and princess. The rest must come from the heart."

Her hand was lying on the arm of her chair, small and puffed, vested of her rings because they no longer fit her swollen fingers. All of a sudden, he wanted to weep.

"If I knew it would cause us so much grief, I wouldn't have looked at her, ever," he said with sudden vehemence. "No matter what a worthy warrior she was!"

Elia looked quickly away. Suddenly, she looked shrunken. "And I was not?" she asked quietly. "Was I not fighting for _you_ , to give you an heir?"

He was stricken. It had never occurred to him that she might view the situation this way. He would never disregard her efforts but the birthing bed was a war all women faced. Lyanna was… different.

"For how long are you going to keep punishing me?" he finally asked.

"It isn't about punishing you!" Elia snapped and tried to rise. As expected, she didn't manage it on the first try but Rhaegar knew better than trying to help. "Don't you dare pinning this on me for not being able to force myself into forgiving and forgetting the insult you dealt me in front of everyone – and your disregard for _my_ battle – just because you want to say sorry!"

All in all, this attempt was no success either. Without Elia as audience who helped him better understand the prophecies by simply listening, Rhaegar was left to interpret them on his own. Perhaps it wouldn't be for long. Perhaps once their son was born, everything would fall back in place. And by then, Rhaegar would have had months to show how much he cared about her, even if she didn't care about him anymore. Perhaps by then, the sun of spring would have risen anew. For real, this time.

* * *

**The End**

 


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